


Twice Existing

by nomadichead



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 12:26:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5004772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomadichead/pseuds/nomadichead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete had two lives. The one he had to exist in and the one where he was the only one existing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twice Existing

_Warmth. It coiled around him, secure and familiar, those cool spring days mixing with the summer heat. He felt breath on the back of his neck and a steady heartbeat beneath his fingers, the first few rays of sunshine dancing across where skin met skin. His lips felt chapped as he smiled, but in that good way that reminded him of first kisses and late night phone calls. His eyes opened and closed again, heavy from the remnants of sleep, ideas that maybe there was still time to dream. Melodies hummed through the open curtains, birds calling outside as they perched upon the rooftops, singing that the sun was bringing morning to the sky and that today, it would be a good one._  
  
-  
  
Pete started visiting there when he was 12. It started like any fairytale story a child makes up in their head. It’s innocent and pure and nothing bad ever happens. Pete played with his imaginary friends in his imaginary world that he could only see when he had his eyes tightly shut. It made the monsters go away when he couldn’t sleep and made the slight ache in his chest feel like a memory. He can remember crying the nights he couldn’t get there, the nights when he would lie awake with eyes red from looking at the ceiling, the nights when sheep would turn into twisted faces that made his heart pulse faster. Reflecting back, Pete would almost call it an obsession. He didn’t just want to go there; he craved it, to the point of feeling sick when he couldn’t. A nausea that was consuming, twisting in his gut, pleading to be let out. Pete didn’t choose to go there anymore; he was forced to go there. It started out like any fairytale. It started once upon a time...  
  
Pete stopped going there when the doctors gave him the pills that made him forget.  
  
-  
  
Pete liked Patrick because he smelt of old must and the perfume mother’s wore when they had spent too much time being a housewife. That’s what he had thought when he’d hugged him too close for a first meeting, grinning bright at Joe. Patrick had squirmed uncomfortably beneath his grip, his pallor flushing red when Pete brushed their cheeks together, the thoughts light and airy in his head.  
  
Soon Patrick didn’t smell of home anymore. He smelt of fresh tarmac and dirty sheets and unwashed clothes. He smelt of tour and the stage and Pete’s words. He smelt like the whole world was his to take but he was too cautious to see it. Pete had admitted this to Patrick once, feet pressed against Patrick’s side, eyes squeezed shut.  
  
“Homes change, Pete.” Patrick had said, eyes resting on the older man’s face and suddenly Pete felt like he was a million miles away. Pete felt like he couldn’t remember himself and the whole world was falling out of place.  
  
“Kiss me.” His voice didn’t sound like his own. It sounded like the frequency had dropped, like it had been scraped across his vocal chords, like Pete was someone else. Patrick didn’t look surprised, his eyes perfectly calm.  
  
“Not now.”  
  
That night, Pete went to asleep and woke up somewhere else. Somewhere quite familiar.  
  
-  
  
 _“Kiss me.” His voice didn’t sound like his own. It sounded like the frequency had dropped, like it had been scraped across his vocal chords, like Pete was someone else. Patrick didn’t look surprised, his eyes perfectly calm. It took a moment for either of them to react, the clock ticking past the seconds. Patrick licked his lips once, twice, before lurching forward connecting their mouths. It wasn’t perfect. In fact it was far from it, their tongues sloppy as Pete pressed himself against Patrick. Their breathing was heavy, disturbing the silence and Patrick dragged his lips across Pete’s jaw, enticing a moan to escape from Pete’s mouth. Patrick nuzzled his face into the crook of Pete’s neck, resting there, inhaling.  
  
“This isn’t happening. This is a dream.” Pete stared down at the head resting on his chest, bordering on nervous. He felt a kiss be dropped against his skin before cool eyes met his and they weren’t nervous. They were secure and knowing and alive and a heat spread from the core of Pete’s chest as they watched him.  
  
“What’s a dream anymore? This could be it, forever. You could stay here. If you’d like.” Patrick’s voice didn’t have the uncertain edge it usually did and Pete didn’t answer. Silent in agreement because he didn’t know what else to say. Patrick smiled softy, dropping his mouth back to Pete’s neck, sucking at the junction of skin. Pete’s eyes fell closed, back arching as kisses were trailed across his neck, disappearing under the collar of his t-shirt. He felt fingers trace across his palm before Patrick linked their fingers together. Patrick lifted his head and looked at Pete, tears shining with something similar to regret.  
  
“Time to wake up.”_  
  
-  
  
When Pete looked in the mirror the next morning, bed sheets sticky with sweat, there was a bruise marked onto his collarbone. Teeth marks pressed into soft skin. Inexplicable. Pete shook his head and told himself that world wasn’t real and took a pill to make it go away.  
  
-  
  
Pete didn’t call Patrick for 4 days and went to his other world every night. Except it wasn’t his world anymore and things there frightened him. He missed the security of it. He missed knowing where was real and where wasn’t. The things in his mind began to form physically, evidence of the places he had tried to keep secret. No one asked why Pete looked exhausted all the time, or why he had a trail of bite marks across his jaw, or why he would sometimes fade as if he wasn’t really with them anymore. No one would ask and Pete would close his eyes and dream of a time where he could control everything.  
  
It was Andy who approached him eventually, eyes burning into Pete’s with knowing.  
  
“It’s not worth losing yourself.” Pete blinked, mouth dry as he sighed.  
  
“It’s not worth staying here if he doesn’t want me.” They both looked over at the huddled mess of hoodies that Patrick was sleeping under. The bus shook uncomfortably and the singer huffed but continued to sleep. Andy turned back to Pete and his voice was laden with emptiness.  
  
“One day you won’t be able to come back.”  
  
When Pete closed his eyes, long after the moon had risen in the sky, he tried to cling to the reality he couldn’t fabricate. Tried to belong where he knew he should. A voice echoed uncomfortably around his dreams, made his skin itch and his insides knot.  
  
 _One day, you won’t want to._  
  
-  
  
Pete turned up at Patrick’s door the next morning, frantic and oh so alive.  
  
Patrick opened the door, eyes foggy with confusion and sleep. It was early but time didn’t hold much sway for Pete as he encased his arms around the younger man.  
  
“Patrick, Patrick, Patrick. I was so lost. I couldn’t get home, I mean, this home. But now I have and I don’t want to go, don’t make me go. Say that you’ll stay with me.” Pete’s voice was rushed and airy, like the words weren’t really his as they settled in Patrick’s brain. He placed his palm against Pete’s chest, relishing in the feeling of the steady pulse he found there. It made him feel safe.  
  
“Calm down. I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.” Pete laughed at his response but it was harsh sounding. The wind drifted through the open front door causing goose bumps to form against Patrick’s skin. He shivered, butterflies thick in his throat as he watched Pete. Except it wasn’t Pete, not his Pete. This Pete was different, his eyes glazed with a hungry malice that Patrick had never seen before. He didn’t want to be near him and Patrick felt sick as he ushered him out of the house.  
  
“It’s early. You should go. I’ll call you in tomorrow or something.”  
  
The sound of the front door closing was heavy in Pete’s ears and when he got home he counted out the pills across the kitchen work surfaces before taking every single one.  
  
-  
  
Warmth. It coiled around him, secure and familiar, those cool spring days mixing with the summer heat. He felt breath on the back of his neck and a steady heartbeat beneath his fingers, the first few rays of sunshine dancing across where skin met skin. His lips felt chapped as he smiled, but in that good way that reminded him of first kisses and late night phone calls. His eyes opened and closed again, heavy from the remnants of sleep, ideas that maybe there was still time to dream.  
  
“Shhh. You shouldn’t be awake yet. It’s early.” Patrick’s voice was lilted and soft. It reminded Pete of a poem he had once read.  
  
“This isn’t real.”  
  
“No, no it isn’t. But it can be. If you stay a while.” Pete shifted, fire dancing across his skin and setting his insides alight. He wanted to feel.  
  
“Maybe I can do that. Maybe I can stay a while.”  
  
Melodies hummed through the open curtains, birds calling outside as they perched upon the rooftops, singing that the sun was bringing morning to the sky and that today, it would be a good one.


End file.
